


Tuxedo Junction

by juniperhoot



Series: The Long Balls Trilogy-verse [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Stony - Freeform, Superhusbands, booze, brief references to homophobia by a terrible person, long balls trilogy, so much Glenn Miller you guys, some people are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperhoot/pseuds/juniperhoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is being honored - again - for his philanthropic work, which mostly amounts to having written yet another very large check.  These affairs can be incredibly dull, but he's making the most of this opportunity to show his boyfriend Steve Rogers how good he looks in a tux.  After all, he did promise him a dance...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuxedo Junction

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read my other stories about Steve and Tony, this is the event they talked about at the end of the third installment, "Some Like it Stony."

Over the years, Tony Stark had attended more charity galas than he could count. Generally, they were dull and uninspired events, full of the sort of bland earnestness, faux humility, and pompous speechifying one might expect.  _ Blah blah, your very generous contribution, blah. _ The tedium was offset, to some extent, by the ample array of sexual opportunities available at every turn. The wealthy and influential trolled these events, looking for – and finding – action. It was easy, and uncomplicated, and exactly the sort of thing that appealed to Tony. Or rather, it used to appeal to him.

The last time Tony attended a gala, a few months back, he woke up the next morning with an impressive hangover, in bed with a pair of women whose names escaped him, and – most surprisingly – the inability to shake a vague sense of dissatisfaction over the whole thing. It wasn't that the sex wasn't great. Hell no, the sex was fantastic. But that wasn't enough anymore, and in a rare moment of self-awareness, he'd realized why. It was all Steve's fault. Ever since he'd met Steve Rogers, the living, breathing, flag-waving (and wearing) anachronism from the 1940s, he'd secretly yearned for something more, which eventually lead him to... this.

Standing before a mirror, Tony adjusted his bow tie and checked his hair one last time. He glanced over at Steve as he emerged from the bathroom, his shining hair combed into a smooth, very old-fashioned, golden wave. Steve's incredible shoulder-to-hip ratio was complemented by the cut of his new tuxedo, a gift from Tony. His bow tie hung untied around his neck. He held up the loose ends, shrugged helplessly, and gave Tony a sheepish grin. “I never could figure these things out.”

“Good thing you're dating a genius.” Tony crooked a finger, eyes twinkling as he beckoned to Steve, until they stood face to face. Taking the tie in hand, he tugged Steve closer. As his dark eyes surveyed the most beautiful man he'd ever known, Tony's mind took a rapid but thorough inventory of all the filthy things he'd like to do to him. With a resigned sigh, and a vow to revisit those thoughts later, he brushed his lips over Steve's smooth cheek, then stepped back slightly, turning his attention to the bow tie. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. This philanthropy gig is just an elaborate excuse to wear a tux. Dressing up regularly means knowing how to tie one of these.”

With a flourish, he turned Steve to face the mirror, peering around him and openly admiring his own handiwork. “See? I could teach you how to do that, but I kind of like the idea of you needing me for this.”

Steve grinned at Tony's reflection. “How do I look? Alright?”

“You'll do.” Tony slipped his arms around Steve's waist, resting his cheek against his lover's shoulder and holding him close. He could feel himself becoming aroused, and was sure Steve could feel it, too. “If I hadn't promised you a dance, I'd say let them give the award to someone else. The sight of you in that tux... I swear, Steve.”

“You wouldn't want to disappoint the nice folks who got all dressed up just to see you tonight.”

“It’s cute that you assume they’re nice.”

After a frown from Steve, Tony reluctantly conceded the point. The snobs at the ball had made substantial donations to attend this gala, for the privilege of seeing their favorite genius, billionaire, former-playboy, philanthropist. They would get their money’s worth, and then some.

When the limo pulled up outside the swanky hotel, Tony stepped out first, grinning and waving at the throngs of onlookers and paparazzi. He turned and extended a hand to Steve, helping him out of the car, then offered his elbow for the red carpet walk. Steve looked at Tony, hesitant. He’d been so focused on the thought of them dressing up and going dancing, somehow he hadn’t thought about all these eyes on them. He knew the world had changed a lot since he’d gone into the ice, but theory and practice are very different things. When he was a scrawny little nobody from Brooklyn, quietly nursing a crush on his best friend, Steve was careful not to let it show. He’d seen what happened back then to the guys who revealed themselves to the wrong person, or got caught in the act in a back alley after the bars closed. Rationally, he knew it wasn’t like that now, but still, he hesitated for just a moment, his jaw clenching involuntarily.

Without missing a beat, Tony winked at him and offered an encouraging smile. “I hope they have mashed potatoes in there. Or those little bacon-wrapped crunchy things. Love those. You hungry? I’m hungry.”

Steve hooked his hand around his boyfriend’s bent elbow, leaning in and murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” as Tony’s lips brushed his cheek. The cameras began flashing wildly as photographers captured the moment for the tabloids, the shouts of journalists following them into the hotel.

“I had a hunch all that commotion signaled your arrival.” Bruce approached them, looking less disheveled than Steve had ever seen him, neatly turned out in a tuxedo. “What’d you do, throw handfuls of cash at them?”

“Nothing so gauche,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He patted Steve’s hand at his elbow. “We just gave them a tasteful photo op of the city’s most notorious billionaire bachelor and his outrageously photogenic boyfriend.”

They made their way to their table, grabbing champagne flutes from a passing waiter along the way. The place was packed with familiar faces from stage and screen mingling with the less famous but wealthier elites of New York City. Tony was being honored as a humanitarian (again), which he found profoundly amusing. He’d donated large sums of money to a number of organizations over the years - not difficult, given the enormous fortune he’d inherited and continued to amass. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely fair, but he was hardly the first wealthy asshole to buy his way into humanitarian status. Besides, Steve seemed impressed as hell, and that was a benefit of incalculable value.

Tony excused himself for a moment, gently squeezing Steve’s hand as he stepped away. Steve flashed a smile at him, then turned to chat with Bruce, asking him to share some of his experiences of medical work in Calcutta. Bruce was surprised, but eager to talk about something so dear to his heart. For several minutes, he spoke with quiet enthusiasm on the subject of a facility now under construction, thanks to a generous contribution from Tony.

The band began playing a familiar Glenn Miller song, as Tony returned to the table, extending a hand. “I believe I promised you a dance.”

Smiling sheepishly, Steve nodded and took Tony’s hand, following him to the dance floor. After a moment’s negotiation, they agreed that, as the more experienced dancer, Tony should lead. This was all new territory for Steve; a little scary, but exciting. Throughout the ballroom, all eyes were fixed on the handsome pair as Tony’s hand slipped around Steve’s waist, and they began to move with the music.

“What’s this about you giving Bruce money for a hospital?”

Tony quirked a brow. "Throwing money at a hospital for the poor helps him to stay focused on the work here. It’s a no-brainer. Besides,” he continued, “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I’m loaded. Money’s an easy way for me to help.”

“Easy or not, it’s still a nice gesture. It’ll help a lot of people, there and here.” Steve leaned closer. “You want everyone to think you’re a cynic, but you can’t fool me. You actually care about helping people.”

“Keep your voice down. I’ve worked very hard to cultivate an air of spoiled cynicism.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Tony’s cheek, Steve murmured, “I’m so proud of you, Tone. Here I am, just a guy from Brooklyn, at a fancy charity ball... dancing with the guest of honor, a man who's receiving an award for doing something genuinely decent… and he's the best-lookin' guy in the room. Would it be terrible for me to admit I wish all these people weren't here, so I could have you all to myself?”

Tony's heart fluttered with a pang of overwhelming affection. Brushing his lips over Steve's tender earlobe, he whispered hoarsely, “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this evening without tearing that fucking tux off you.”

Steve drew a sharp breath, silently reminding his body of their considerable audience. Cheek to cheek, they worked their way around the dance floor, with Steve contentedly humming along with the band, and Tony's face plastered with the kind of smile that would later be written about in local gossip columns as “heartfelt” and “dopey but charming.”

As the song ended, he and Tony exchanged a brief but sweet kiss. As they made their way back to their table, Tony licked his lips and said quietly, “For the record, you taste like champagne. In case you were wondering about that fizzy stuff in the fancy glasses.”

Steve chuckled. “Mock if you must. Sometimes, I like the taste, even if it doesn't affect me the way it does you.”

“What would Cole Porter have to say about that, I wonder…”

When they joined him at the table, Bruce was making his way through a pile of crackers and cheese. A small book was propped open with the salt and pepper shakers, allowing him to read hands-free. He looked up from the book, and peered at them over his glasses. Swallowing a mouthful of gouda, Bruce said, "There's some fancy blonde over by the bar, checking one of you out... she was watching you dance."

Tony glanced in the direction of the bar, a glimmer of recognition flickering in his eyes. He adjusted his jacket. "Excuse me. I'm going to get a drink. I'll be right back."

Steve watched the handsome genius walk toward the bar, then turned to see Bruce examining him. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get my head around you and Tony, together. I'm used to seeing him with women like that. You're... not his usual type."

"Maybe that's why it works. His _usual type_ is a one night stand."

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't tend to get involved. If you'd asked me a few weeks ago, I'd have told you he wasn't capable of it."

Steve idly picked at a plate of hors d'oeuvres, then asked, "And now?”

"You want my honest opinion?" Bruce directed his gaze toward the bar, where Tony was engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with the mysterious blonde, then looked back at Steve. "I don't know. I've never seen him date someone like you before. To be perfectly honest… it seems out of character. I'm hoping I'm wrong about that. But his track record isn't the best.”

Bruce settled into a thoughtful silence, fidgeting with his tie. He looked over toward the bar again, quickly averting his gaze as he realized the mystery woman had her hand on Tony's arm.

Steve sighed. “Need anything from the bar? Maybe a Shirley Temple? Or a Grape Nehi – they still make that, right?” He excused himself from the table. 

Tony was laughing, and smiling his most charming “damage control” smile when Steve stepped up to the bar behind him to order drinks. “As I said before, I'm not interested.” 

“Hey. What'd I miss?” Steve smiled at Tony and his acquaintance, slipping his hand around Tony's arm and giving an affectionate squeeze.

“Claire here was hoping for an exclusive interview.”

The well-dressed blonde flashed a brief, predatory smile. “For old times' sake. After the way we left things last time, it would be a nice gesture.”

Tony quirked a brow and sipped his Scotch. “The way we left things? I seem to remember that being mutually enjoyable. How exactly do I owe you anything after that?” 

“It's not about owing me anything, darling. You can't deny it would make a great story, though. _Tony Stark goes gay for Captain America? Infamous playboy turned infamous gayboy?_ ” 

“Even if you don't consider that kind of tabloid journalism beneath you, Claire, it's absolutely beneath me.” 

“It's not the only thing _beneath you_ these days.” She smirked, glancing coolly at Steve.

Tony finished his drink, then set the glass down. “Will you look at the time? Half past incredibly tacky. If you'll excuse us, some of us have humanitarian awards to accept.” He smiled at Steve, who leaned in as they walked away.

“So… you and she…?”

“Once. Regrettable ancient history. I'm not that guy anymore.”

They stopped to deliver Bruce's drink, and Steve shrugged ruefully as he handed it over. “Shirley Temple. The guy had no idea what Grape Nehi was.”

“That's okay.” Bruce sipped at his drink and tried to look casual. “Got everything sorted out over there?”

Tony brushed a strand of long blonde hair off his sleeve and nodded. “She wanted me to explain the particulars of my sexual orientation for an article. I have no interest in justifying myself to someone like that.”

Steve's brow was furrowed with thought as he hesitantly began, “Tone, what if she still writes--”

“Writes that I'm queer? That I'm 'gay for Captain America'?” His dark eyes flashed with irritation as the words snapped out. “I'd rather it didn't come from someone like that, but the first amendment is pretty clear. I can't very well sue her for writing the truth, Steve.”

“Fellas, I don't want to butt in here, but--”

Tony sighed irritably and looked at Bruce. “Yes?”

“I think they're about to do the award thing. The music stopped. Maybe you ought to lower your voice a bit, and sit down?”

Flustered, Steve immediately slid into his seat, his face crimson with heightened emotion. Without a word, Tony turned and walked back to the bar.

Steve swore quietly under his breath, then looked over at Bruce. “You okay? Not too… worked up, right?”

Bruce gave a wan smile. “Everything's under control. Promise.”

The well-dressed man at the podium was talking now, thanking all the donors for their generosity, reminding them there was still time to demonstrate even greater generosity, blah blah blah. Steve was only half-listening, as he scanned the room for his moody partner. He spotted Tony at the bar, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. Steve frowned, and considered going to him, but suddenly the man up front was singing the praises of Tony Stark, inviting him to come forward to receive his award.

Tony bounded up the stairs to the dais, drink in one hand. Vigorously shaking the hand of the emcee, he looked around for a place to set down his Scotch, finally settling for the floor beside the podium. Hands freed up, he accepted a large crystal thingamabob that would look nice with all the other thingamabobs he'd received over the years from one organization or another. He pulled out some notes from his breast pocket, then grinned ruefully as he withdrew reading glasses from the same pocket. “Pardon the cheaters, these eyes aren't as young as they once were.”

After reading off a brief statement acknowledging the honor bestowed, he flipped through his cards and stuck them back in his pocket. “You know what? I'm going off script tonight. That's okay, right?”

He looked around the room, smiling and soaking in the applause from the people there. “I, uh… I think we can all agree that I have lead a life of privilege. My father, the late Howard Stark, left me a legacy of brilliance, innovation, and curiosity. He also left me a very large pile of money. For many years, I have given substantial sums of that pile of money to various causes.” He paused, picking up and sipping from his tumbler of Scotch, then smirked. “I'm gonna be perfectly honest… some of those donations were most likely made for tax purposes.”

The room filled with laughter, and he continued, “I know, obviously that makes me a great humanitarian.”

Tony took another sip, loudly smacking his lips. “So, the thing is… a couple of years back, I had a bit of a crisis. Probably not the one you're all thinking about.” Another sip, followed by a sigh. “I met a legend. A man my father knew and admired, a man everyone admires, really. And you know what happens when you meet someone like that? I mean, _after_ insulting him, and dismissing him, and doing everything in your power to piss him off? You realize there's something in you that wants to be like him. You want to be a better man. _I_ wanted to be a better man. Not just because I wanted to impress him. I… I wanted to be _worthy_ of him. Honestly, if you want the truth, this award doesn't belong to me. It belongs to him. It belongs to Steve.”

He looked down at his empty glass and set it down on the floor, then hefted the award in his hand. “He's the reason I'm holding this thing tonight. For years, I was just going through the motions, you know? My heart wasn't in it before.”

Tony looked out across the crowd, finding and meeting Steve's gaze. With riveting sincerity, he said simply, “It is now.”

Tony mumbled a final thanks as he stepped away from the microphone. Clutching the award in one hand, he hopped off the edge of the dais. Brushing past hands extended in congratulations, ignoring all requests for a word with anyone, he made his way through the crowd. With shaking hands, Tony handed the award over to Steve, as a round of applause erupted throughout the room. He blinked back the tears threatening to fall, then pulled Steve toward him for a lingering kiss. The crowd cheered loudly, thunderously applauding as the two most eligible bachelors in the city made it clear they were off the market. They broke away from the kiss, their foreheads resting against one another, and Tony chuckled. “I meant it, you know. That award is yours. I've got at least twenty like it already.”

Steve laughed and brushed away happy tears. “You're ridiculous.”

Tony nodded, then listened as the band started playing again. “Wow, is that another Glenn Miller song? You'd think some rich guy slipped them a generous tip with a list of your favorites or something.” He winked at Steve and extended his arm in invitation. “Would you do me the honor?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been so patiently waiting for an update to this series! I love you guys, and all the encouraging comments along the way. There's more to come!


End file.
